Rivalry
by reflecting
Summary: Sequel to Accidentally Dating, but can be read as a stand-alone. "It wasn't just the Cas situation, though admittedly, that was what was having him act as one of those disgustingly cheerful bastards you just want to introduce to your fists. But he digresses. Compared to just a year ago, Dean was practically living the high life."


**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel

**Notes: **This is a sequel to**_ Accidentally Dating_**, but can be read as a stand-alone.

English isn't my first language, so I apologize in advance for typos and grammatical errors that might occur.

Enjoy!

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**Rivalry**

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It might have taken him a while to catch on, but once Dean was in on it, so to speak, he found himself having random moments of basking in the awesome that was his life nowadays. It wasn't just the Cas situation, though admittedly, that _was _what was having him act as one of those disgustingly cheerful bastards you just want to introduce to your fists. But he digresses. Compared to just a year ago, Dean was practically living the high life, what with the whiskey bottle firmly locked away, dad's debts paid, the steady job at _Singer's Salvage_ and his brother safe in college (before the scholarship, Dean had been painfully close to do more than just poke at the wrong side of the law, because the amount of hours he'd worked to put Sammy through school had slowly been killing him - literally).

And now, to top it off, he had the Boyfriend of Boyfriends that could – and would, despite Dean's protests – splurge and spoil him like the best of them. It was a point of pride to have a brainiac of a brother speeding through law school like a boss, and a lover with so many degrees attached to his name one would be hard-pressed to pick out which one was his actual, you know, _name_. If this made Dean preen like a cocky little bitch and shove it in your face if you let him, just to rub it in, well – he hadn't had a lot to be proud of in his life, certainly nothing that had been _his_, until now (apart from his baby, there'd always been her). He doesn't think you have any right to blame him.

Besides, Cas was _awesome_, why wouldn't you want to hear about him? Dean would be embarrassed, but he was too busy enjoying the shit out of having someone to reach out for when his skin itched to be touched, someone who reached out for _him_, and if that made him a needy, touch-starved bastard then he could add it to the mental list of things that sucked about him. He took it out from time to time and wondered if he could cross some things out, if only for Cas' sake for when he found it and quite possibly high-tailed it – Dean was still trying to figure out how much of a chance he had of convincing Cas to stay if it ever came to that, but it was ridiculously hard to get a read on the man. He hadn't figured out Cas had been _dating _him until there'd been candlelight and red wine, for fuck's sake, so how was he supposed to know when or if things went to shit? Dean wasn't one who worried much past the present however, and had long ago developed the mind-set of enjoying what he had while he had it, because it'd be gone one day anyway and wasting time worrying about _when_ would just taint it and make for more regrets.

Which was why he was firmly pushing such thoughts into a corner of his mind and focused on the brilliance of having a man like Cas on his arm.

His smirk was decidedly smug in the face of one Balthazar Milton's dark glare.

"Balthazar, you smarmy bastard!" he greeted him with grating, boisterous cheer; slapping a hand on the other man's shoulder and giving it a firm shake. "Fancy seeing you here, huh?" The man was positively _glowing_ with annoyance. Awesome!

"Winchester," came the British drawl that made Dean's skin crawl (Balthazar was one of the few who could make a sexy accent tickle Dean's gag reflexes, because he was fucking hot in a let-me-fuck-you-dead, I-hate-you kind of way, but just _no_). "Whatever are you doing here? One would think an event such as this would be…a bit too much for you. Did you finally sell that mutilated car of yours to dress yourself like a decent human being, or are you here to serve drinks?"

This was going to be golden, Dean could tell, because he'd spotted Cas making his way through the crowd over Balthazar's shoulder mid-way through the spiel, and oh God, Balthazar's _face_ was going to be _epic_. Where was a camera when you needed it? Maybe his phone…

"Dean," Castiel interrupted, before Dean's silence of anticipation became suspicious, sliding around to slip his arm around Dean's waist (coping a feel on the way, the sly bastard) to face a gaping Brit. "I told you to stay close by, not leave me with those pompous idiots." Cas gave him a chiding look, equally annoyed as tired.

"Sorry," Dean offered with a loop-sided smile, because yeah, he knew how much Cas hated these high-priced charity-events of hypocrisy and how he was cornered by fellow doctors and professors and whatever else frequented these kind of things. But he'd spotted Balthazar, an acquaintance of Cas' that Dean had been sure was paying to get into Cas' pants but who Castiel insisted only paid for his research in the name of science or some shit, which was bull. Okay so Dean might have been a bit concerned (terrified) about Cas seeing the appeal of rich, well-educated Brits who invested in his work, especially when said Brit was someone _Dean_ could see himself having a hate-fuck with. Not while he had Cas, of course, but without him in the picture and several whiskey bottles and that mental list of failures in his head – well, with his new full awareness of the male sex and how awesome it was with boyfriends, he wouldn't be surprised to see a return of his binge-days of old, only with as many men as women this hypothetical time around.

Which was not the thing to be thinking about with Cas' arm around him, clearly, because Cas' eyes narrowed, telling him something of what he'd been considering had slipped into his expression (it might've been the part where he checked Balthazar out in assessment of fuckability and how it'd correlate with the hypothesis of Cas leaving him). Castiel's nostrils flared the way the did when he was mentally working his way up into a determined ball of righteous frustration, which was thankfully interrupted by Balthazar's recovery of brain-function.

"Ah, Castiel; I was hoping to catch you tonight, as there is something I need—", which were, apparently, the wrong words to say or something because Cas barely managed a polite nod and smile before he excused them both and dragged Dean through the crowd of silky dresses, sparkly jewelry, and fitted suits (mmm, Cas' ass in those _pants,_ god_damn_). Dean's head was barely out of the gutter when they finally came to a stop in an abandoned corridor, and was quite quickly shoved back in as Cas backed him up against a wall and got _all up in his face_ with those _eyes,_ oh yeah that's—

"You," Castiel growled, making Dean tingle in all the right places, "can try the patience of a saint."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I'm awesome like that." He was promptly shut up by a biting kiss that had him squirming in Castiel's grip, searching for leverage between the wall and Cas' chest. His hands were gripping Cas' arms helplessly, and a moan was working its way up his throat, but as quick as it'd started Castiel ended it; drawing back with a sharp bite on Dean's lower lip before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue.

Breathless, Dean stared wide-eyed at the older man and wondered what had set that off and how soon he could repeat whatever it was to have it happen again because hotdamn, that was good. Cas eyed him like he wanted to rip his clothes off and fuck him right there, against the wall, and that sounded like a fucking awesome idea, in Dean's opinion, so he licked his lips in eager anticipation and arched his back to grind his hips in encouragement. A breath caught in Castiel's chest, audible over the low background noise of chatter and clicking heels to the unfortunate theme of string-music. Leaning in, Cas was breathing hotly in his ear and nibbling on his earlobe, pushing his erection into Dean's hip. "You tempt angels," he murmured, giving one last bite that had Dean shivering before drawing back completely, leaving Dean on shaky legs relying on the wall to keep him up.

"I will assume you were either actively playing on my possessiveness or were sadly misinformed of the situation, and not thinking of any stupid ideas," Castiel mused as Dean tried to get his brain back online, straightening his mussed suit and not even bothering with the permanent bed-mess that was his default hairstyle. Dean shook his head, a somewhat guilty and disbelieving grin stretching his lips and making them sting just a bit in a reminder of what had taken place moments ago, distracting him for a few seconds as his eyes glazed over.

Castiel's pointed clearing of his throat brought him back. Taking in Cas' crossed arms and raised eyebrow, Dean gave a wistful sigh before reining himself in and getting with the program. He senses serious relationship-thingies in the making.

"I, uh—", he began, even the poet with words, straightening and reaching out for Cas. "I wanted to show you off, sorry. I didn't know you'd react like that," he couldn't help but wink and smirk, "but if that is you being possessive, then prepare to—"

"Dean," Castiel cut him off, looking somewhere between resigned, annoyed and endeared. "Is this about Balthazar again? Really? I've told you, he's just—"

"He's hot," Dean blurted out, flushing in discomfort. "And rich. He's got some fancy degree from, like, Cambridge or something. It's just…he always acts as if I'm just your past-time hobby or whatever. Like it's _obvious_ you'll choose him over me when it comes down to it, and I don't know… I wanted to show him you invited _me_ here, not him, because that stupid, smug bastard won't _lay the fuck off_!" He stopped himself abruptly, taking in a large gulp of air and wondering if his ribcage had suddenly shrunk or his heart and lungs were swollen to the point of bursting through bone at any moment. He thinks it's good he stopped when he did, or else the whole mess of mental lists of failures and whiny little bitchy noises of self-doubt would come pouring out.

Castiel eyes him with a soft expression of understanding, and Dean just wanted to punch something, but was caught off guard by the soft stroke of fingers along his cheek and down his jaw, the pad of a thumb resting on his swollen lips with gentle pressure. "I'm going to address the concern of my boyfriend assessing the attractiveness of falsely perceived rivals at a later time, because right now, I would really like to leave. I have a bed I've had someone moan their praises of, and someone to fuck on it."

Dean parted his lips and sucked the thumb into his mouth with a moan, letting it go with a deliberately wet noise. "We better hurry then; that someone must be gagging for it at this point."

"Oh he will be," Castiel murmured, heated gaze lingering on Dean's lips before he pulled him away from the wall and towards the coats' room with brisk, determined steps. There's nothing like a good fuck to reassure stupid whiny voices in the back of your head Dean thought, as they finally made it to his car in between the occasional grope. Pompous Brit resoundingly dismissed by jealous boyfriend, and some smoking hot sex awaiting upon arrival home; the night couldn't have ended any better, in Dean's humble opinion. He'd just try and make sure Cas' suit wouldn't be too damaged, because that thing was staying. The things it did to his _ass,_ oh yes, it was _definitely_ going to make a home for itself next to that damn trench coat.

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**End notes: **Dean is, as always, a bit oblivious when it comes to his own desirability to others (re: Cas) on a deeper level than physical attractiveness. Poor baby.

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